Mr. Kozol shows me [in The Fume of Poppies] that I have underestimated the latent sexual impulse of the American coed. Mr. Kozol's graphic affair, one of extreme youth, is reminiscent of [Raymond Radiguet's] "Devil in the Flesh," with much flesh and very little devil. It carries a naive charm just a little too far. I applaud his ideals of sexual love but I'm slightly embarrassed to be drawn so intimately into his sexual fantasies. "Shacking up" is all very well but it hardly will hold an entire novel together. Making love from the chill woods of Maine to the West Porch of Chartres becomes enervating if not ludicrous. There is some effective, if brief, scene painting and let us hope that when the first careless rapture has passed, Mr. Kozol will try again. This should do wonders in paper covers.